


things better left (un)said

by OnyxSphynx



Series: newmann one-shots [4]
Category: Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: Fluff, Getting Together, M/M, Prompt Fic, and angst duh, bc that's a fandom trope i haven't done before, but yeah don't worry it's a happy ending, happy ending for our two tired gay science boys, hermann finds the tape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-26
Updated: 2019-01-26
Packaged: 2019-10-16 06:50:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17544776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OnyxSphynx/pseuds/OnyxSphynx
Summary: "17: Things you said that i wish you hadn’t"Or: Hermann finds the tape





	things better left (un)said

**Author's Note:**

> prompt fic for @fingalruche on tumblr bc somehow I managed to get prompts...who knows how, lol
> 
> if you want to send me a prompt, here's the list: [prompt list](https://three-black-cats.tumblr.com/post/182281101462/send-me-a-ship-and-one-of-these-and-ill-write-a), so send one to me (@three-black-cats on tumblr, anon's always on)

The party atmosphere is a mixture of adrenaline and shocked disbelief; the world almost ended less than a few hours ago, and Hermann’s blood feels like it’s on fire with the mixture of tension, stress, and pain from his aggravated leg. Newt’s arm is over his shoulder and they’re leaning into each other, unbelievably tired. 

The Drift bond hums at the back of his mind, a soothing, grounding white noise in the chaos of LOCCENT that echoes through the halls behind them. They reach Newt’s quarters first, and Newt nudges his side, wriggling out from his grip to press the pad of his index finger against the scanner, and with a beep, the doors slide open. 

Hermann shoots Newt a glance, feeling slightly awkward, and clears his throat. “Well, I’ll just—” 

He gestures down the hall wordlessly, and Newt raises a brow. “Dude, no way! Come on, we both know you can’t get down to your room with the state you’re in—nope, don’t try to argue, I can feel your pain, man, like,  _literally_. Just come in. I can take the sofa—” he waves his hands, seemingly unable to think of more to say. 

Hermann debates the options for a moment: number one, try and limp to his own bed, likely collapsing on the way there and dying, or number two, take the biologist up on his offer. When he puts it that way, it’s hardly a fair contest. And anyway, the chasm in his mind feels hollow without Newton’s presence—he’s not sure how well he’ll do without the man in his physical vicinity. 

He nods jerkily. “Alright. Do you have a—a shirt and a pair of sweatpants I can borrow, by any chance? I do not want to remain in this— _filthy_ state any longer than necessary.” 

Newt lets out a huff of laughter. “Yeah, yeah, just come in. You look like you’re gonna collapse, dude, here—” he motions for Hermann to put his arm around his shoulders, and they stumble into the room, Newton making a bee-line for his dresser and pulling out a shirt and sweatpants. “Here you go, Herms—I gotta go wash the blood of my face, so,” he makes an unintelligible hand-gesture. “I’ll give you some privacy.” 

Hermann eases himself into a sitting position on the bed, toes his shoes off, and, with a wince at the protest of his muscles, begins to work off his mud-splattered, kaiju-beviscerad slacks, pulling on the sweatpants Newt’s graciously provided. The shirt is easier to get on, as his arms aren’t in nearly as much pain. The soft cotton—actual  _cotton_ , not that rubbish excuse for it that they make from plastic fibers, regardless of how much cheaper it is due to rationing—is heavenly against his skin, and he lets out a soft sigh of contentment. 

Apparently, Newton’s decided that a shower is the only rout, given his state of post-second–Drift filth, as the sound of water hitting tile filters through the wall. With nothing else to do, sleep mysteriously elusive despite the fact that he’s running on three hours of sleep in as many days and at least a whole pot of tea, Hermann surveys the area. 

It is, all things considered, surprisingly tidy—posters from 2000s and 2010s films tacked up in a neat row, various bands’ posters dotted in. The shelf that lines the wall the bed’s against has various kaiju action-figures, a few candles, and some cacti. Miscellaneous items, stones, and pieces of sea-glass lay in a random fashion across the board, but somehow, it’s endearing, bringing a smile to his lips. 

His eyes slide from the shelf down to the night-stand-like table, a few sketches of what appear to be future tattoos, and something black pokes out from beneath them. Hermann brushes the aside to reveal a black tape, unlabeled except for a sticky-note that reads  _HERMANN,_ all caps, in Newt’s cramped, messy hand. 

Interest piqued, he inspects it, fingers running over the edge, until he feels a break in the plastic—a button. Intrigued, he presses it. There’s a moment of static, and then, Newton’s voice, scratchy and manic at the same time. 

“ _Hermann, if you’re listening to this, it means I’m alive, which means I was right, so, hah, I won—or…_ ” the recording goes silent, save for the scrape of fingers against metal and quiet cursing, before Newt’s voice returns. “ _Or—or! I’m dead, in which case it’s all your fault, Hermann, it really is—_ ” Hermann clicks the button, letting out a harsh, ragged gasp as it dawns on him when the tape’s from. 

Images of Newt laying on the floor, spasming and seizing, eyes rolled back in his skull as he makes choked whimpers flood his mind, and all he can think is  _pain_ and  _fear_ and  _alone, you can’t leave me alone, please, Newton, Newton, Newt—!_  

The tape falls to the floor with a clatter, and he realizes, suddenly, that the room’s gone quiet, the sound of the shower gone. Newt stands in the doorway of the bathroom, hair damp, an expression on horror on his face. 

“I—” he starts, “Hermann, I—” 

“Save it, Geiszler,” Hermann hisses. “You’ve made your thoughts on the matter abundantly clear. Now if you don’t mind, I’m going to go to  _sleep_. Good  _night_.” 

Newton opens his mouth before his head drops, shoulders hunching. Without speaking, he makes his way to the sofa, drawing the blanket he’d left on it over himself. Hermann rolls over towards the wall, refusing to acknowledge him, and tries to go to sleep. 

He’s only just drifting off when it begins, nightmarish white-blue light creeping across his vision, and suddenly, he’s ten again, cowering before Lars, only his father’s face is now Otachi’s, Leatherback’s, Slatterns, the  _Precursors are coming and when we_ _do_ _we will bring death and we will bring you horrors beyond imagining and—_

He snaps awake with a scream of terror dying at his lips, a worried voice saying, “Herms? Herms, hey, hey, hey, it’s alright, it’s alright, you’re okay—” 

As the fear begins to ebb away, the tenseness of his body leaves bit by bit, until he’s leaning into Newt’s embrace, face hurried in the crook of his shoulder as he draws in grounding breaths. He’s still shaking slightly, and Newt rubs soothing circles against his shirt. 

“I’m sorry,” he says, “for—for what I said. I wasn’t—I wasn’t thinking. I just—I want you to know that. That I don’t want my last words to you to be ones that make it seem like I—like I hate you.” 

Hermann says nothing, simply clinging to the biologist, but his mind’s calmer now. He wonders if he should thank the man, but instead what he ends up saying is, “I don’t hate you, either, Newton. Newt.” 

They remain like that for a bit longer, the room dark around them, before Newt shifts, and, without thinking, Hermann gasps a desperate, “Please don’t go!” 

Newt stills against him, and Hermann fears he’s done something wrong for one horrible, horrible moment, before Newt says, “Oh thank god. I wasn’t sure how to ask if I can say without coming off as like—desperate, or clingy, or…” He trails off, and Hermann disentangles himself from the other, pulling back the duvet for Newt to slide under it next to him. 

Within moments, Hermann’s wrapped in Newt’s warm embrace, lulled back to a peaceful sleep by the even rhythm of Newt’s heart beating against his ear, the ghost of a chaste kiss against his forehead and his lips. 


End file.
